


His Type.

by taciturnCleric



Category: Boyfriend to Death (Visual Novels)
Genre: Kidnapping, M/M, My first real fic be kind, Rape/Non-con Elements, Torture, thigh fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-10-07 12:44:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17366084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taciturnCleric/pseuds/taciturnCleric
Summary: I’m really rusty with writing but in summary this just what if Strade kidnapped Lawrence? A series of drabbles that do follow a continuous plotline ideally. Updates will depend on my inspiration.





	His Type.

Lawrence had been a challenge, for sure. The high-strung blonde was anxious, less easy to fool, and equipped with enough muscle to smash any person’s pelvis in at the first red flag.

Naturally, Strade had to be careful- and careful wasn’t his usual style. Although he wasn’t a fool, he considered himself more laid back. This was for his entertainment after all, even if he did make money off of it, that was only an added bonus. The heavy-set brown haired man tried to always have fun when he worked.

Lawrence was the perfect canidate in all but stature- shy, reclusive, insecure and afraid. It drove Strade mad. He was adorable, with his nervous laughs and how he shrunk into the seat at the bar when a stranger pushed a beer his way. 

It was difficult to figure out, carefully testing waters as the spoke- small talk, of work and financial troubles, simply trying to prompt the other to vent and lessen the heavy cloud of misery that seemed to hang around him. When Strade did find a weak spot, it was completely on accident. The shorter of the two men was physical by nature, but not just in cruel ways, he found himself absently giving his conversation partner a purely friendly side-hug, and at first Lawrence tensed. Then he relaxed slightly, muscular shoulders dipping as he breathed out a nervous laugh, carefully avoiding his pouty blue eyes as a dark red heated his cheeks.

Of course, Strade noticed. He tested it out again, sliding his hand forward to rest on the man’s forearm as he seemed to open up just lightly, gaze fixated on the grain of the table, hiding his flushed face behind pale gold bangs. How long has it been since he’d been touched so gingerly?

A predatory but warm grin cuts through Strade’s cheeks as he leans closer, nudging the forgotten glass of alcohol towards his companion- and Lawrence actually drank, compelled to appease the dark-haired stranger so he doesn’t stop touching him. Strade’s hands are warm but rough and calloused with work. They were firm and- grounding. Lawrence felt easier around him.

That was, until he finished his glass, and the world seemed to tilt as if threatening to sink. 

His anxiety spiked, concerned and terrified whimpers begging Strade softly to do something. 

But the man simply caressed his arm with a hearty laugh, helping him from his chair and leading him outside for some air.

Lawrence didn’t stay concious that long.


End file.
